


Sorrows and Syringes

by ItsTeatimeSomewhere



Series: New Greetings [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, M/M, Sexual Content, and pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsTeatimeSomewhere/pseuds/ItsTeatimeSomewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Black Powder and Books. After having his heart broken, Sherlock goes off to Uni as a different man. When he meets a new friend, will he be able to let go of his past to enter a new relationship? And how will he break ties with Jim?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrows and Syringes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello once again, dearest readers! Welcome to the sequel! I'm sorry to say, but the angst does not stop here. But it's necessary, and adds depth to everything!  
> I was going to do a story like this one from John's POV in Afghanistan, but I just couldn't get my muse going. So after this there will be a full-length story to complete the trilogy!   
> Also, I am in need of a beta for said story, so if anyone wishes to help me, I'll be terribly glad!  
> Thanks for reading, and enjoy! (Also, first attempt at sexytimes, so feedback would be great!)

Sherlock felt the drug burn through his veins, and he focused on it. It was better than focusing on what Jim was doing. . . Why Sherlock was getting his drugs so cheap. . . Why he was currently in a small, dank motel room off campus.

No.

He wouldn't think about it.

The drugs were worth it.

Sherlock sighed, ignoring the pain that swept through his body and the terrifying pleasure coursing through his lower body. He hated that Jim made him aroused, hated that sometimes, Jim could make him come.

Let it go, Sherlock, let it go.

And so he did. He ignored it and focused on the firing neurons, sending out messages to the rest of his brain, figuring out complex theorems and constructing molecules while his body was mercilessly beaten down.

And then it was over.

Because Jim never gave him enough to last the entire time.

No, that would be too nice.

Jim was anything but nice.

And soon Sherlock could feel it. Feel the pounding and slapping, feel himself being ripped open with each thrust, and, eventually, feeling himself fill with the essence of Jim: a thought he couldn't dwell on for fear of vomiting.

Finally, with a groan, Jim finished, pulling himself out and wiping both of them down. Sherlock stood, trying to ignore the pain blossoming between his legs. Jim gave him a bruising kiss and shoved a vial into his hand.

"Until next time, dearest," he whispered.

Sherlock only nodded and left the room, clutching the vial as if it was his life.

He didn't cry; he never cried. He hadn't cried since that day...

No.

Wouldn't think about that.

No point.

It was done, over, gone.

Finito.

Hotový.

Fertig.

Sherlock took a deep breath and washed away any lingering thoughts, moving swiftly towards his room. Once again, he was glad for the privacy the university provided.

Sherlock flopped down on his bed, (which was not the best idea, what with his aching arse and all) but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Why bother?

Nobody to get well for.

Sherlock fell asleep, his dreams filled with golden hair, smiling eyes, and the memory of a life once lived.

~*~*~*~*~

When Sherlock awoke, the sun was streaming through the small window. Sighing, Sherlock rolled back over with every intent of falling back into oblivion, dutifully avoiding his classes.

Sherlock had been enrolled in classes Mummy thought would both give him mental stimulation and keep him from mingling with "the bad crowd" as she so eloquently put it. Father and Mummy had been quite upset when they had found him passed out that one time after Jim had given him a bit too much. It had been only six days after. . . he. . . had left, and Sherlock had still been terribly depressed. After a short stint in rehab, he was let loose on the Oxford campus, clean enough to keep his parents from worrying.

But Sherlock Holmes was never one to follow the rules.

So he reconnected with Jim and continued to get his fix, sometimes visiting the mildly interesting classes that the elite college had to offer. Most of the classes were dreadful and Sherlock could answer everything with about as much brain power as it took to tie his shoe, but others, like the honours chemistry or anatomy, both of which provided his access to the schools laboratory, giving him the ability to continue his experiments.

Yet an academic life which would have suited the old Sherlock perfectly was exactly what the new Sherlock despised. His life was colourless; grey and lonely. The only stimulation gained was from the drugs.

When Sherlock awoke the second time, it was well near noon. Rousing himself, he decided to catch the last ten minutes of anatomy and then head into the lab to check the results on one of his more intriguing experiments.

As he walked across the campus green, someone ran into him. Turning around, he made to yell at the man who ran into him, when he came upon a handsome face.

"Sorry to hit you," the stranger said, "I wasn't looking where I was going." He gave a smile and held out his hand. "Sebastian Wilkes, you?"

Sherlock took his hand cautiously. Didn't this man know who he was? Everyone knew Sherlock Holmes, the freak, the loser, the guy who made everyone else look bad. "Sherlock Holmes," he muttered.

"Well, Sherlock Holmes, what do you say to some coffee?"

Sherlock jerked his head up. "What are you on about?" he demanded harshly.

Sebastian looked confused. "I'm asking you out to coffee."

Sherlock scoffed. "Yeah, right. Who put you up to this?"

"No one! I saw an attractive man and decided to ask him on a date. Is that illegal?" Sebastian smirked at Sherlock's incredulous face.

"No," Sherlock spit, walking away.

"A later time, then?"

Sherlock scowled and continued on his way. Something was wrong with that man if he wanted to hang out with Sherlock Holmes, resident freak of Pembroke College. Shaking his head, Sherlock continued on his way to the anatomy class and experiment, hopefully both would be interesting enough to take his mind off of Sebastian Wilkes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day, walking away from a chemistry class (one that Sherlock rarely attended, only showing up to prove the professor wrong), Sherlock noticed a familiar figure with chocolate brown hair running towards him.

"Hey, Sherlock," Sebastian said genially, "care for some coffee?"

Sherlock scoffed and continued on his way.

It continued for a week; each day Sebastian would come up to Sherlock and propose a date, and each time Sherlock would turn him down. Yet as the days flew by, Sherlock found himself looking forward to the short time he got to spend with the charismatic man. One day, nine days after the first meeting, Sherlock finally relented.

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, ignoring the grin that was spreading across Sebastian's face. Sebastian winked and walked off, leaving Sherlock to follow.

Entering the cafe, Sebastian ordered two coffees and brought Sherlock to a table. The two sat in a comfortable silence, sipping their coffees. Sherlock began to examine his date (was it a date? Sherlock assumed it was) and attempted to figure out why this man was so interested in him.

Apparently, the silence was awkward for Sebastian, who began to talk. He spoke of his time at Cambridge and how his classes were. Sherlock found the conversation dull and began to second-guess his deductions about Sebastian.

"So, I hear you're into experimenting. Care to elaborate?"

Sherlock gave Sebastian a shrewd look (he seemed to be giving Sebastian a lot of those) but the man didn't seem to be taking the mickey out of him.

So, Sherlock relented and began to describe his current experiment.

Sherlock found Sebastian to be a wonderful conversation partner. He listened with fascination as Sherlock described all of his experiments, adding his own ideas here and there. Normally, Sherlock would hate to have someone impose on his work, but Sebastian's ideas made sense and often improved the results.

Sherlock also was able to use his deductive skills, smiling as Sebastian praised the simplest conjectures. He hadn't felt happier in ages. Ever since...

No.

Stay in the present, Sherlock.

Sherlock learned that Sebastian was a finance student a year ahead of him. The subject of money had always been tedious to him, but Sebastian changed his mind. The man was enigmatic and quirky, and had a witty retort for every snarky comment of Sherlock's.

Soon, far too soon for Sherlock, Sebastian realised he had class and had to end their date. As they reached the door, Sebastian swooped down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's face, making the younger man blush deeply.

"See you around, Holmes," he said, waving as he walked away.

Sherlock pressed his hand to his face, feeling the blood that was rushing about. His feet moved on their own accord as he walked towards the dorm. Screw classes, he needed to think.

Once in the solitude of his dorm, Sherlock pulled out the syringe. Usually he would save it, knowing he wouldn't get another one until he confronted Jim again, but this new issue that had arisen required more than the average brain could give. So, Sherlock quickly tied a piece of cloth above his elbow as a tourniquet and positioned the needle. He had found, after the first few attempts, that slowing the blood flow and making the veins larger made it that much easier to hit the vein. With well-practised hands, Sherlock pushed the needle down, sighing as he was filled once again with the drug.

Now settled, Sherlock flopped back on his bed and let his brain go wild.

Sebastian Wilkes. What an odd man. Not only had he flirted with Sherlock, but he had seemed interested in everything about him. Sherlock was suddenly struck with memories of another boy, also interested in him. He remembered the days of lounging by the pond, simply enjoying one another's company.

Wait.

The drug was supposed to make Sherlock forget, not drown him in memories.

Anyway, Sebastian. Did Sherlock trust him? He reflected for a few minutes, trying to figure out his emotions. Of course, he loved the attention, the feeling of belonging; someone out in the world actually cared about him.

But what about Sebastian himself? He was attractive and charming as well as flirty and fun. Much different from Sherlock's past. . . endeavours.

Sherlock smiled to himself. Yes, he believed he could grow to like Sebastian. They sure had gotten off to a good start. Besides, Sherlock had put up all the defenses he could. If Sebastian could break them down, he had to be genuine, right?

Sherlock thought back to the date. He remembered the light in Sebastian's eyes, the attention he paid to every deduction of Sherlock's, all of the little details that made Sherlock want to spend more time with him. He replayed the date six times over, looking back for anything that would deter him from his decision to see where the relationship led.

He found nothing.

Sherlock barely realised he had come down from his high, as he continued to fly through the metaphorical clouds as Sebastian whirled around his head.

Sherlock continued to see Sebastian for two months.

After date number six, Sebastian kissed him for the first time.

After date number fifteen, he went back to Sebastian's room and they made out for hours.

After date number thirty-four, Sherlock spent the night wrapped in the arms of Sebastian.

And Sherlock was happy. He actually enjoyed waking up in the morning, and he rarely went to Jim anymore. Of course, this made Jim upset, but Sherlock hadn't cared at the time.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Jim, I won't be requiring your services anymore. I don't need the drugs."

"Sherlock, don't say things like that. We need each other." Jim moved closer.

"No, it's over." Sherlock took a step back.

"Oh, found someone to replace dear old Jim?" Was the snarky reply. Sherlock cursed Jim's observational abilities.

"As a matter of fact, I have." Sherlock kept his voice calm and controlled.

"Have you forgotten about dearest Johnny? About what he did to you? How he took your heart and smashed it between his fingers?"

Sherlock's blood ran cold. No, he hadn't forgotten, but he'd been ignoring it for quite a while.

Jim put his hand gently on Sherlock's forearm. "I'll never hurt you, Sherlock, as long as you give me what I want. You and I are different from the rest of them, we're special. We need to stick together, to protect one another from getting burnt. I just want to help you." His voice was soft as he leaned in.

Sherlock put his hand on Jim's lips. "No, Jim. It's over."

Jim chuckled and let go of Sherlock's arm. "Whatever you say, Sherly. When he leaves you broken and battered, just like Johnny did, you know where to find me." He put his mouth next to Sherlock's ear. "I'll never leave you. Remember that."

Sherlock watched Jim leave the room, equal parts of him rejoicing and dreading what would happen next.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Overall, it had been one of the best choices of his life, at least according to Mycroft, who had paid him a visit after date fourty-two.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*

Sherlock had walked into his dorm and had immediately scowled as he took in the figure sitting properly on the edge of his bed.

"You're not welcome here, Mycroft," Sherlock spit.

"Just wanted to check up on you, Sherlock dearest; it's my duty after all, Mummy and Father have given up on you after your last, ahem, excursion." Mycroft sniffed in disdain.

"You've been given clearance to watch the CCTV now, have you?"

"Only on you. However mundane you may think my job, it has its perks."

"Skip the small talk and get on with it, Mycroft."

Mycroft stood up. "I'm very pleased that you've chosen to avoid Mr. Moriarty and his, ah, vices."

"Is that all?" Sherlock wouldn't be deterred by praise.

"No, I also hope you make better choices when it comes to Mr. Wilkes. I realise you have advanced your relationship with the man, and yet also I beg you to be careful. Remember the past."

"I think that's enough from you, Mycroft," Sherlock replied coldly, motioning towards the door. "Don't bother stopping by anytime soon."

Mycroft sighed as he walked towards the door. "I still worry about you; I miss the innocent boy who asked me for advice."

"That boy," Sherlock spit out the word, "is long dead, and in his place, there is a resourceful man. Clear? Now good-day, Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded and left, Sherlock suddenly feeling a headache coming on. Curse Mycroft and how he brought it all back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Finally, on date sixty, six months after their first meeting, it all changed. Seb (he had insisted on the name after three dates) took him out to a posh campus in town, and they had discussed the usual topics: experiments, classwork, jokes, etc. Sherlock simply enjoyed Seb's company, and, as cheesy as it sounded, looking at Seb's fantastic eyes; pools of blue, as deep as the ocean.

Dating had made Sherlock soft. He scowled at the thought.

"So, Sherlock, what do you say you come back to my place tonight?" Seb asked casually.

Sherlock nodded, and smiled as Seb quickly called the waiter. He didn't really understand, but something was making Seb nervous and excited.

Sherlock followed Seb into the dark flat, blinking as Seb flipped on the lights. "Finally, I can see you clearly," Seb murmured, drawing Sherlock closer. Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips against Seb's, feeling a wet tongue slip between his lips. Seb groaned as his hands found their way around Sherlock's waist and squeezed his arse. Sherlock slid his teeth across Seb's tongue, grinning at the shudder it produced.

Seb led them towards the couch, gently lowering Sherlock into the soft fabric. His tongue swirled around Sherlock's own, Sherlock's hands massaging his back, feeling their way around the taut muscle. Continuing to attack Sherlock's mouth, Seb's hands found their way to Sherlock's waist, where they rested dangerously close to Sherlock's manhood.

Just the thought sent a leap of heat towards his groin, causing him to buck towards Seb. In a brief moment of friction, he could feel Seb's arousal. The older man groaned.

"Care to take this to the bedroom?" Seb whispered deliciously.

Brain clouded with arousal, Sherlock nodded urgently, needing to feel that friction once again.

Both men hastily moved towards the door, touching each other as much as possible. Sherlock suddenly found himself shirtless and felt Seb's hands roaming his uncovered back. He would have been self-conscious, had it not been for Seb's similar state of undress.

Finally, Sherlock found himself pinned down to the soft bed, Seb's lips moving away from his lips. He whimpered at the lack of contact, but the whimper was swallowed as Seb attacked his jaw. Each kiss, each touch, felt like thousands of electrodes shooting through his body. He was on fire, lusting and needy.

Quickly, efficiently, Sherlock's trousers found themselves on the floor, and Seb was cupping his erection, sending Sherlock out of control. He moaned and bucked into the contact.

"Is this what you want, Sherlock?" Seb whispered, his voice loving. Sherlock whimpered.

"Yes, Seb," he whispered in return, pulling Seb down for another kiss. Seb nodded and pulled off his own trousers and pants.

"One second." And the heat was gone, leaving Sherlock cold and erect on the bed. Yet it was momentary, as Seb returned, laden with a small foil package and a tall bottle.

Moriarty had never prepared him before. Sherlock's heart leapt with joy.

"Legs on my shoulders," Seb grunted, spilling some of the lubricant on his fingers. Sherlock complied and gasped loudly at the cold intrusion. Seb held for a second, letting Sherlock get a feel for his finger, before adding another, scissoring his way through the ring of muscle. Soon, Sherlock was begging for more, begging for Seb, and the man complied, quickly slipping on the condom and slicking himself up.

Sherlock's body was suddenly filled with heat. Seb began slowly, simply rocking back and forth. Suddenly, Sherlock felt a sharp pang of pleasure course through him, and he knew Seb had hit his prostate.

"Again," he moaned, "faster." He was feeling terribly exposed, but the feeling of Seb pumping himself into Sherlock, hands gently caressing Sherlock's sides, was beautiful.

Seb began to buck faster, grasping Sherlock's erection and pumping it in time to his own thrusts.

"Oh...god..." Seb grunted, "so...tight."

Sherlock let the pleasure fill him, feeling closer to release with each hit of the prostate. Finally, he shouted a warning to Seb and came with a cry. Seb was not far behind, and he rocked them both through the orgasm until they collapsed on the bed in a sticky mess.

"That, was wonderful," Sherlock said breathlessly. Truly, he had never known sex to be so incredible. With Jim it had always hurt so much, he had never known the pleasure it could bring.

"Anything for you, my love," Seb murmured in return. "Let's get cleaned up, shall we?"

Sherlock nodded, feeling lethargic. He let Seb wipe him down with some tissues and curled up around the man when he finally lay down.

He fell asleep smiling, feeling loved and loving the man in return.

It was after the fateful night that things took a turn for the worst. Seb didn't meet Sherlock as much, claiming schoolwork was keeping him from meeting with Sherlock. At first, Sherlock had believed him, and yet, as weeks passed without a single call, Sherlock began to get nervous.

It was six months and twenty-three days after they had first met that Sherlock decided to confront Seb. He put down the chemistry book and took a deep breath, walking towards Seb's dorm. He stopped outside the door as he heard voices. Laughing voices.

"Oh you should've been there!" That was Seb's voice. "Should've seen him begging, begging for my dick!"

"Shit mate, really?" Came another voice. Sherlock thought he recognized it as Tim Brosnan, Seb's closest friend.

"Yeah, poor boy's besotted. Don't know how to turn him away." Sherlock heard the grin in Seb's voice. He was mocking Sherlock.

"Let him down easy, okay? Idiot didn't know he was getting into it for a bet."

"Yeah, and by the way, you owe me two hundred pounds and a night out. It only took six months."

Tim chuckled. "Sounds like a plan! Go deal with your pet and I'll meet you at Duke's at nine."

Seb said his goodbyes and Sherlock hid in the shadows as Tim walked out the door. Then, he turned to Seb.

"Sebastian?" he whispered, walking up to the man, "is all I heard true? Was this for a bet?"

Seb sighed, unsupervised by Sherlock's appearance. "Yeah, Sherlock, sorry. I was going to let you down easy-"

"Yes, I heard," Sherlock snapped, quickly trying to replace his barriers.

"Sherlock, I'm really sorry, I didn't-"

"No. I understand it all. Perfectly. I'm just the freak with whom you bet your mate you could fuck." Sherlock moved closer to Seb, knowing (from past experiance) that people felt threatened when their space was invaded. He wanted to threaten Seb. He wanted to hurt the man who had made him love again.

"You're making it worse than it is, Sherlock-"

"Shut up! If you don't shut your pathetic mouth right now, I'll make your life difficult." Sherlock stepped as close as he dared. "Never talk to me again."

"Sherlock, we can still-"

"We can still be friends? What kind of sick bastard are you? Oh that's right, the kind that sleep with your cousin on the Easter holidays," Sherlock fired. Seb blanched. "Get the fuck away from me," Sherlock murmured, walking away quickly. He needed to get out, needed to escape. He was being cornered, the walls closing in on him.

"Sherlock, wait!"

Sherlock didn't turn around. He kept up a brisk pace until he reached the campus grounds. Then, he broke into a run. He ran out of the gates, grasping his phone in his hand. He hit the pre-programmed number and waited for it to ring through.

"Hello?" came the silky voice.

"Jim, you were right. Same place, usual time?"

Jim sighed. "Of course, Sherlock, anything for you."

Jim found him sitting on the bed in the darkened motel room, his eyes red from crying.

"Oh, Sherlock," Jim murmured, taking the dark-haired man in his arms, "I'm sorry I was right, and I'm sorry to see you so broken. You're so much better than that twat. Let me show you."

Jim took out the syringe, which Sherlock gladly accepted. He plunged the syringe into his arm, letting Jim undress him at his leisure. If this was what life was like without the pain of rejection, Sherlock would gladly accept it. Anything was better than the sorrow, even if it was a life surrounded by empty syringes.

"I've got you, Sherlock," Jim whispered, holding Sherlock. "I'll always be here for you."

And Sherlock listened, because it was the only thing he could count on in his life.


End file.
